


"Easter"

by bunnyfication



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Biblical References, Gen, Historical
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-24
Updated: 2010-03-24
Packaged: 2017-10-26 09:56:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/281679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bunnyfication/pseuds/bunnyfication
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crowley is sulking, so Aziraphale tries to console him and is made fun off. Later, there is dinner and <s>revenge</s> reminiscing. "Bah! Humbug!" says Crowley.</p>
            </blockquote>





	"Easter"

**Author's Note:**

> Betaed by [](http://taiyou-to-tsuki.livejournal.com/profile)[**taiyou_to_tsuki**](http://taiyou-to-tsuki.livejournal.com/) ♥ Incidentally, long after this was written, I found a picture of [Morning of the Resurrection by Burne-Jones](http://www.dl.ket.org/webmuseum/wm/paint/auth/burne-jones/resurrection.jpg) in a book, and was quite amused. But maybe that's just me.  >3>;

Sun was setting, in deep reds and subtler yellow, the sky slowly fading to inky blue. The water below it was already dark, except where the surf hit the rocky shore. From this side the island looked desolate, covered mostly by grass, with the rocks breaking through it like the bones of some (fake) prehistoric animal.

In some places, the rocks had a more recognizable shape.

The moai monoliths loomed picturesquely against the sunset. For a more fanciful mind, they might have resembled an army waiting for orders. One that had been waiting for so long most of the men had grown tired and settled down on the ground, tilting every which way or entirely horizontal. Only a few stood in a neat, military row, brows stoically lowered.

As it happens, the only person seeing this particular view was not concerned with the statues. No, he was looking for the figure perched on one of the vertical monoliths like an oversized seagull. There was a quiet sound made by very large wings as Aziraphale settled next to him. His landing was relatively elegant, at least considering the size of the landing area.

"Good evening, Crowley," he said in a disapproving tone, earning a dark look from said person.

"What?"

Aziraphale looked around him, his expression saying he didn't think much of the location, and that he wished a certain someone had chosen a less remote location to brood, if he absolutely had to do it at all. Of course he didn't say any of that. Quite.

"Really Crowley, must you be so...ironical, or whatever you call it," he said instead.

"The name you mean? Not really, just saw a travel brochure," Crowley answered, shrugging apathetically. Then he added: "And why are you here?"

"You didn't show up for dinner," Aziraphale explained irately.

"Yeah, well...didn't feel like it," Crowley said, before he remembered he shouldn't have to explain himself, technically. And then again, one didn't want to make things unnecessarily difficult. So to he...heck with that anyway.

"Is something the matter?" Aziraphale asked, in his most annoying compassionate tone.

Crowley shrugged again, the motion ruffling his feathers slightly.

"Nothing. Absolutely _nothing_. Business is going just splendidly," he said flatly.

"I see," Aziraphale said, still in that irritating way.

Crowley smiled suddenly, glancing at him sideways.

"Figured you could use the exercise though..." he said flippantly.

Aziraphale straightened up suddenly, sucking in an affronted breath (and his stomach, while he was at it, but that was neither here nor there).

"Is that so," he said in a suddenly glacial tone.

Crowley snickered at him, which didn't help. Aziraphale merely huffed at him, and they spent a moment in silence, while the first stars became visible.

"I think you need a hobby. Right now you have too much time for all this..." Aziraphale made a vague gesture, "introspection. Which is all good and well but clearly it doesn't suit you."

Crowley considered this proposition.

" _You’re_ telling me to get a hobby? Really?"

Crowley chuckled derisively, but Aziraphale didn't look very impressed by it, so he stopped. Well, actually he stopped because he didn't feel like chuckling, that was more like it.

"I have my plants. And...Well, plenty of stuff," he mumbled at last. "And really, you're one to talk, spending all your time in the bookstore and all...wait." Crowley looked rather like he'd discovered something rather terrible and exciting.

"Define a hobby, will you?" he said.

Aziraphale blinked.

"Well, I suppose...isn't it usually something not directly connected to one's occupation...?"

"So the bookstore is a hobby, eh?"

Another long silence followed this statement. Aziraphale shifted slightly on his precarious seat.

"Ah, well...books are...I do think collecting and preserving knowledge benefits the humankind. In the long run, as you're so fond of saying,"

"Really? Even if none of them ever get their hands on it?"

"It is a bookstore," Aziraphale mumbled sheepishly.

"Ever considered starting a library instead? There everyone would have access to the _knowledge_ all for free," Crowley continued.

"Libraries are a wonderful idea," Aziraphale said sourly. What he didn't say was: _In theory. Ever seen what some people **do** to the books? One simply wants to give the poor dears a better home...but of course I've never done that, because that would be wrong. Usually..._

For all he didn't say it, he felt it was far too audible. At least Crowley didn't seem to be in a bad mood anymore, judging from all the snickering.

"Forget I ever said anything," Aziraphale said peevishly. "If we leave now we might still be on time to get a nice table though. I would hate to miss the Easter celebrations entirely." he added.

"Hmph." Crowley said dismissively, but he got up anyway.

*

There were in fact no nice tables left by the time they arrived at the Ritz, but a couple at a particular table decided they needed to leave immediately, never mind that they'd barely touched their food. Crowley raised an eyebrow at Aziraphale, but he hardly even blushed.

He did, as an afterthought, send a vague notion after the couple in question to be careful, whatever that meant for them.

"They'd almost decided it on their own already..." the angel mumbled.

Later, after eating some rather good roast lamb, Crowley leaned back in his chair and poked at his miniature Simnel cake.

"I'll probably get stomach ache from this..." Crowley grumbled, and knocked one of the twelve balls off the surface of the pastry. Aziraphale hid a smile behind a teacup.

"Oh, hardly. Besides, I know you like hot cross buns as much as anyone."

Crowley mumbled something about pagan traditions, and Aziraphale just shook his head.

"Really Crowley, I don't understand what you have against Easter. Certainly I can see it wouldn't be as much to your taste as _Christmas_ but..." Aziraphale gave the word "Christmas" a rather weary tone. He didn't have anything against it as such, but Crowley had gloated about the current state of the holiday enough to try anyone's patience. Even an angel's (Aziraphale chose to forget that most of his colleagues weren't of a very patient sort. He tended to forget that fact when he didn't have to speak to them in a while).

Crowley was currently stabbing at his poor cake with a fork and staring into the distance. Or presumably staring, with his shades it was hard to tell for sure. His expression implied that though.

"Bad memories," was all he said, and Aziraphale almost got a bit insulted, before he remembered. Then he smiled again, that particular smile that was almost, but not quite angelic at all.

"Ah, of course."

"What?" Crowley asked, snapping out of his thoughts suddenly. It was the smile; it was like a warning beacon. He would have regretted the earlier comment about exercise, if regret was in his repertoire as a demon. Which it of course shouldn't be.

"I do recall now you had a bit of a scare back then, didn't you?" Aziraphale said sympathetically.

Crowley glared at him from behind his shades.

"I did not...and even if I did, one doesn't expect to turn and see the g...the gosh darned Son of God radiating holiness out of every pore!"

Aziraphale sighed.

"I did _try_ to tell you I had work to do."

Hadn't he? Of course it all happened a long time ago, and he'd been rather caught up in mentally preparing for the task he'd been given, but Aziraphale did remember Crowley suddenly stalking up to him right in the middle of waiting by the empty tomb.

It had been a terribly awkward moment after all.

_"Seriously Aziraphale, if you don't tell me what all these signs are about I'll..." Crowley's threatening voice suddenly petered out, and his yellow eyes widened in terror. He almost cowered, unconsciously putting Aziraphale between himself and the figure outside the tomb._

_Such strange behaviour from someone who'd just tried to intimidate him, Aziraphale thought. But back then, he'd already given up trying to understand Crowley._

_"T-that's no gardener!" Crowley hissed._

_And then, He turned away from the woman walking away, and towards them. Aziraphale straightened up a bit, feeling as nervous as an angel had reason to in a situation like this, whereas Crowley...he seemed frozen into place._

_Didn't look scared anymore though, merely cool and collected and mildly derisive. Except Aziraphale could still see the fear in his eyes. Crowley had terribly revealing eyes for a demon, he'd noticed. Without having thought about it, Aziraphale found he'd spread his wings out to hide Crowley from sight. Even though that was an utterly ridiculous thing to do._

_Suddenly, he found himself hoping Crowley...was not in fact in too much trouble. Certainly he was an enemy but at least he was one Aziraphale was somewhat used to already. Perhaps he should make some sort of distraction and...ah, now He was looking at him, with a rather inscrutable look on his face. Aziraphale didn't dare contemplate the meaning of it._

_"Yes?" he said, and then realized there'd been no question._

_He smiled minutely, not at all like He had in life, but it was not exactly unkind either._

_"I could swear I heard something about _two_ angels?" He said quizzically._

_Aziraphale contemplated saying the disciples didn't all have such great eyesight, but in the end chose not to._

"Errr..." he said instead.

He smiled again, in that ineffable way, and waved a hand dismissively.

"Oh well, no matter. If you see that adversary of yours, do tell him there are no hard feelings about the mountain top thing. The view was rather nice from up there, actually."

"Ah, I see...I'll make sure to tell him so next time we meet. If I get a break from the...uh, fighting," Aziraphale answered haltingly.

"Yes, of course. Keep up the good work."

And then, after that last pointed look that made Aziraphale feel just a bit guilty, He left.

After a long moment of silence, Aziraphale coughed, and said, as kindly as he could.

"There, that wasn't so bad was it? Also...if you could kindly let go of my pinions now."

In the current time, there was also a long silence.

"Ok, I'll admit I was slightly spooked," Crowley said flatly. "But I had reason to think the world might be ending ahead of schedule and my superiors had decided it'd be a lark not to inform me. Shut up, it _could_ have happened."

"Wasn't going to say anything."

"Sure you weren't. In any case, I definitely wasn't clutching at your wings."

"You most definitely were, I was afraid I might lose those feathers," Aziraphale argued.

"Yes, well you do have oversensitive wings," Crowley mumbled with a smirk.

"Was that a complaint? Funny, you said nothing about it last night..." was the offhand reply.

The waiter, who was called to bring the bill a while later, watched the two departing gentlemen for a moment, and shook her head. What an odd couple. Surely the younger man could have found someone better than that...but he was probably swindling the older gent for money. Not that he looked especially rich, but one never knew.

She fingered the piece of paper pushed under her watchband, given by the handsome customer in the corner table with the dark eyes. There was a phone number on it, written in a quick but elegant handwriting, in blood red ink. So different from her boring old husband, that man. Before Ellen was called back to her work, she saw the dark haired man smile to his companion, and suddenly realized money had nothing to do with this. No, nothing at all.

She dropped the phone number in the nearest flowerpot, where the number dissolved into a swirl of pink. Ellen decided she'd ask for leftover cake and bring it to Albert, he'd like that.

On the other side of the room, Crowley shivered, having the unpleasant feeling of having unwittingly done something _good_ , but then Aziraphale said something that distracted him.

  
*


End file.
